Disclaimer: None of the familiar characters, places, or features belongs to me. They are the brainchildren of Master Tolkien and owned by his enterprises and or New Line Cinema.

Right Side of Justice
Chapter 3 - Tight Spot

Annoyance didn't describe a thing when it came to Scott Tyne's disposition, it didn't even scratch the surface. Annoyance was more of a small itching at the back of one's skull that slowly grew to an incessant twinging and nagging that caused one to actually pick at that untouchable spot. Once it passed this, it could be considered aggravation. No, that still didn't touch on Tyne's demeanor. Now maybe the stage in which one took the axe to that nagging bur that causes so much insomnia... Unfortunately, he had yet to put a name to this stage.

But which of his two problems were more of the bur? The suited cronies in town, or the stranger out on the bush?

The latter obviously had some nerve and audacity to break into his apartment above the saloon without his permission. But then again, if Mateo had had his permission, it wouldn't be called "breaking in". Disturbingly enough, there had been no sign of unlawful entry. He had stood at his door, unlocked it, entered, gone about his business, then turned around to find the odd character lounging in a chair with long fingers interlocked over his chest, most relaxed and at home. He looked almost like a permanent fixture of the room. When Scott was in mid-reach for his gun, Mateo waved his hand, head remaining tilted downward with chin resting on his chest.

"No need for that, it's just me."

Scott retracted his hand, swearing none to quietly. "Do you want to get yourself shot or something? Have a death wish do you?"

Mateo tipped his head to the side, regarding him with one eye. "You don't have to worry about that too much." Slowly, without a hint of hurry, he sat up and straightened his hat. "I've considered your offer, and I think I'm interested."

Scott did a double take at the abrupt confession. He hadn't expected the rancher to change his seemingly resolute mind. His day - which had previously been in the pits - was brightening up considerably. "Really now?"

Mateo nodded. "But first, you mentioned something about having the facts in writing."

Devilish man! Scott was ready to curse him again. "Look, I was just using a figure of speech, I don't actually - "

Mateo raised one eyebrow, and that was the end of that. "If you want my help, you'll find some hard evidence." He stood, touching the brim of his hat and shrugged into his coat. Scott hadn't even noticed it lying across the bed when he had first entered. Mateo paused in the doorway as if something nagged at his memory. He raised a finger, turning slightly. "And, don't bother coming to find me. I'll just drop in."

Scott Tyne was left to work his jaw, and restrain himself from shooting the stranger in a non-life threatening location - or at least attempting to do so. But no, he had his work cut out for him, might as well get started.

---

There were few things Marshall Godard liked more than paper work. It had such an officious feeling, signing title after title of land over to the government. With every scratch of his gold tipped pen, one more life was affected dramatically by the curling of his signature. It was a remarkable and exhilarating feeling, power.

But there was one thing he did enjoy more than such paper shuffling, and that was being there to see and be a part of the effects of his signature at work. Unfortunately, recently he had not been able to be a part of these processes due to the, delicacies, of the current power play. It was indeed delicate. Word of the goings on were to be kept on a need to know bases, and once outside the building, lies were the order of the day.

Then again, lies and deceit were the cornerstones on which he built his authority. They worked quite well too.

Through the open window a breeze hesitantly ventured, the one intruder that went unauthorized without complaint. It was a rare visitor on this dusty and ill expanse, but was welcomed even by one such as Godard. Physical comforts were never unwelcome guests.

Papers rustled below their weights, the corners fanning. Godard frowned and smoothed the current sheet flat. It was the commission to purchase ten horses off a local rancher on the morrow; all that he needed now was the rancher's signature then all would be in order. He would go through the spiel for payment being delivered on the first of the twelfth month, approximately five months from now.

An empty spiel it was, for no money would come and there would be no papers recorded to back up the spineless claim for payment from the lowly rancher. The horses would be his, for free, but the poor, stupid and witless ranchers didn't need to know this. That was just one reason why security was tight. It would mean havoc if that little detail managed to break free.

The pen scratched and rolled upward as the serpentine tail of the 'd' swung up and around to end sharply at a tapering end. Oh, he smiled, he may have a little role in this scheme right now - gathering stock and weaving his fingers into control of this insignificant little town - but not for long. This had been his idea, his brainchild, and he would have to realize it once all was put into action. Shifty eyes scanned the room, an odd notion of mind reading that made him reluctant to even think his name.

In the stillness of the spacious room, he gave a hoarse chuckle. What a silly notion, mind-reading; almost as silly as if someone had told him that an elf from some magical wood was going to invade his life and be the ruin of him. What ever had possessed him?

Rising from his chair, he stretched his arms behind him and rolled his neck from side to side. He'd been sitting far too long. Perhaps it was time to stretch the legs.

He left, leaving the window open.

---

The door clicked shut, the lock snapping into place on the opposite side. Tyne grunted, wishing above all to scratch his nose, but it was quite impossible due to his position. The renovated saloon, turned store, turned warehouse building had a sheer side with few balconies and only one ladder on the exterior. Unfortunately for Scott, the office of Marshall Godard did not sport a balcony for the sake of security, but balconies were for amateurs after all, and he was not an amateur.

Right?

He would never admit that using a ladder was just as amateur-ish. Dull-witted cronies hadn't even thought that someone could quite easily climb a ladder and take a short hop to the window. At least, Scott had thought it would be an easy hop from the ground. Looking at it now, well, it didn't look so easy anymore.

But if he wanted the aid of that bur-like Mateo, then it was now or never. He didn't like the sound of never, so it was now.

He was right, it wasn't easy. Leaping sideways while trying to get his feet free of the rungs landed him a hairs breath almost out of reach. Eyes widening considerably, he pawed the air as gravity clobbered at him. Fingers brushed the sill and down clamped nails. Gravity was out of luck today. "Heh," he wheezed with a grin, "piece of cake."

Slip.

Cursing, he scrambled his feet against the wall, desperately searching for purchase in the wood. His fingers slipped farther, dragging across the sanded surface. Looking over his shoulder, he realized just how far a drop it was. Gravity, seeing an opportunity, lunged back to grab hold of his ankles. Another precious inch was lost.

But by blessing, or by the luck Scott Tyne lived by, Gravity was foiled again by a small, almost unnoticeable crack just big enough for the tip of his sole to slip into. It was just enough to stop his decent. With puffing breaths, Scott snaked one hand forward, then the next until he had a good grip on the sill. "Yeah," hand over hand he pulled himself upwards, boots banging loudly against the wood siding, "I said it was a piece of cake. An old chewy piece of cake, but still cake," he admitted quietly.

Rolling on his stomach, he swung his legs into the room. He didn't expect the drop.

Thunk.

That was the body.

Crash.

That was the vase.

"Blast it!"

That was the curse.

Scrambling to his feet, his hand went to his hip, drawing his gun out of reflex. Too much noise, way too much noise. The desk, being the most obvious source of documents, was his first visit. Tax statements, all of which were overblown, a commission for a new building, a complaint from a store owner, aha! There it was, something with 'stock' in the title.

He had no time to read it, for right at the moment his hand touched the document, a door slammed somewhere very close, followed by voices distinct enough for him to pick out the tone. They had heard him.

Stuffing the paper in his vest, he hurried to the window. No time to climb down, the footsteps were at the door and the handle was rattling as the key was turned.

Jumping, though not usually the best way to keep one's body in functioning order, was the fastest way out of a tight spot from any given height.

Out the window, a brief free fall then a grunt as the breath was temporarily knocked from his lungs. This was followed by one of the most natural of stenches. Scott had never been so happy to see manure, or had seen such a collection. What a mound of manure was doing under Marshall Godard's window, he had no clue, but he didn't question a kind fate like this. Even if it did stink.

---

Ignoring the suspicious stares from his floor mates, and obvious repulsion from the women he passed - though he did offer them little hurried tips of his now greenish hat - he pushed through his door, slamming it behind him with his heel. He could deal with the grime for a little longer, but first it was time to have a look at the goods.

At least, he would have if the door had not suddenly exploded inward from behind him. The heavy panel nearly knocked him flat, but sent him stumbling. He staggered, dazed and reeling, but managed to turn and reach for his gun.

Of course, now was the perfect time for it to jam stubbornly in its holster. But today was indeed his most lucky day. This was proven when the window shattered, in much the condition of the door, a body swinging feet first into the room. Razor edged debris sprayed inward, forcing the intruders and Scott to raise their arms in defense. The figure hit the ground on his feet, colt unholstered and firing with deadly aim. His savior bowled into him, knocking him flat. He found himself caught in a rolling ball, gripped about the waist and tucked head against legs. The two bodies carried impressive momentum, crashing into the legs of the scrambling men.

Dragged unceremoniously upright, the stranger kept a firm grip on his collar and ran headlong down the hall without swerving. Scott had given his life up for that of butchered meat, Godard's men had his trail and that was that. But the stranger, masked by a bandana over the lower portion of his face, wasn't so convinced at the end condition of the day. Skipping the hairpin turn to the stair entry, he flung both himself and Scott over the railing. However, Scott wasn't so graceful and crashed through the railing, not over it.

Like most drops today, it was longer than he had expected, even though he had trudged up the steps uncountable times. He hit the ground and staggered, his knees sparking in protest and cursing his adrenaline and vigor. The stranger didn't even give pause at impact, grabbing hold of Scott's collar once again. They blew past poor, confused Howard Teller, the bartender, with Godard's men hot on their tail.

Evening was coming on, the sky beginning to redden and turn a violent shade. It was towards the setting sun that they dodged down the main street, eventually cutting down a side ally and up a less populated one. Scott's savior made no move to stop until they had left the town far behind and it had passed from sight behind a gently rising hill. They jogged on, weaving up the steady incline towards the rocky crown.

Wheezing like a balloon losing air, Scott collapsed once they halted, not at all accustomed to jogging such a distance on his own two legs without the aid of his horse's four. The stranger turned to him, gave him one amused look and pulled down his mask. Scott supposed later that he shouldn't have been surprised, but he had been when he found himself looking upon none other, but Mateo. "It's you!" pretty much summed up his feelings.

"What an astute observation."

"I suppose then that it's just as stupid a question to ask how you planned crashing through my window? Guess you weren't kidding about 'dropping in'."

Mateo shook his head, muttering something indistinguishable under his breath. Speaking up, he said, "You really ought to pay more attention whilst you're scaling walls and going about your, um," he paused, looking for the correct word, "espionage."

Scott's jaw worked, no words escaping for quite sometime. Was he mad or mortified, neither quite knew. "You were watching me the whole time?" he finally managed.

Mateo offered another one of his strange smiles. "Only since you made your oh, so impressive jump from ladder to window." He had the audacity to chuckle. "You know, you could have just climbed higher and then gravity, which seemed to be your enemy, could have been your ally by pulling you down from a higher point - giving you much more time to grab hold."

It was known to most that one should never critique another's work when it came to robbing, plundering or spying of any kind. The reason to this was yet unknown, but the common guess to this unspoken rule was because usually the robber, plunderer or spy was on principle a dangerous sort and given to violence. Thankfully, Scott was not a violent type, but he certainly didn't appreciate the correction on his form. "I suppose you could do better then? You've had practice in this area maybe? I bet you've just had years and years to do this sort of work, being immortal and all."

The chuckle grew into a laugh, and an odd laugh it was, unlike anything Scott Tyne had ever heard. Mateo seemed to be uncontrollably in humor, holding his sides and wiping stray tears from his twinkling eyes. "Hey! What's so funny about that? I was insulting you, you're not supposed to laugh!"

This addition just drove Mateo to further gales of pealing laughter. Scott continued to protest to the outburst, but it was to no avail.

Finally, the laughing stranger had worked up enough breath to simply say, "You have no idea, my friend, no idea."

---

The feeling of laughter is a warmth much missed and is never quite appreciated until it returns after a long, mirthless winter. Legolas had not realized how much he had missed this forgotten pleasure, but was brought to awareness now as he was thrust back into the company of the mortal kind.


They settled in a little known crevasse of the oddly placed high rising knoll - which in itself was a geological rarity in this portion of Texas and worthy of mention on the maps; the rolling land was farther east than Harris. On either side, the rocky crown of the rising of ground stumbled up to the heavens, jagged and casting long, lonesome shadows across the hillside.

Legolas stood in a narrow niche, looking out down the slope and towards the town. No dust rose, no threat advanced. This worried him. Why did they not follow? He was loathe to pass it off for foolishness, but what else could he do? Jog into town and ask?

"What's got your brow pinched like that?" The Tyne fellow was regarding him solemnly, Legolas's canteen resting in his hands.

He folded his arms across his chest, leaning a shoulder against the red rock face. "They aren't following."

There was a spluttering of water to his right, followed by harsh coughing. Scott blinked, thumping himself on the chest with a fist as he tried to clear his airway. "Tell me why this is a bad thing? Because as I see it, I'd rather not be having to run no more."

It was obvious to Legolas that Scott had a few things yet to learn yet about a little thing called 'predictability'. He certainly had his work cut out for him. "They're planning something," he said more to himself than anyone. "We ran to the most logical place." The more he thought about it, the uneasier he became. What was their tactic?

In the course of a minute and a half, Legolas had run over in his mind more than three dozen possible scenarios . They ranged from schemes played upon him in bygone years, to ones he had used. It was the last option that flittered across his memory that jogged an unpleasant thought.

Rabbits. As silly as it might be, a fox and a rabbit came to mind. The fox, as crafty and sly as in the storybooks, would flush the prey out, finding his second entrance and snaring it as it fled. It was an ancient and time tried method, one as old as the world itself. The options for escaping this snare were few, either run into a trap, or be killed by whatever threat was used as the propellant into the snare.

"We're moving." Legolas moved from his position on the rock, every muscle taut. The rifle on his back returned to his hands. Scott made motion to protest, but thought better of it at Legolas's serious expression. His own hand slipped to his hip.

---

Standing on the outskirts of the town, Godard had a magnificent view of the mountain - as it was called by the townsfolk. It rose solemnly from the level plain of scattered knolls, stately and aloof from the rest of its kind that were much lesser in stature.

"Set her here."

A team of horses, matched in color drew up beside him. A set of wheels groaned to a halt. Wrought from glossy black iron, the cannon was a fearsome thing to behold even on its lonesome. The team was unhitched, both animals jerking their heads and dancing eagerly away from the monstrous weapon, it was as if they knew all too well what it was.

"Where do you want 'er aimed, mister?" said the older man, whose face was lined from brow to chin with deep folds of age. Somehow, by either the extravagant tale he expanded upon at each telling, or by a more shady way, he had gotten his hands on an old, but very much operational cannon. It was his pride and the object upon which he swore any oath worth swearing. Unfortunately, his chances to actually fire the weapon were few and far between, as well as often illegal. So when Godard's accomplices had come to him with a request to see it in action, he hadn't asked a question whatsoever. Ignorance was the key.

Godard gave a generic wave to the rocky crown. "Ah, anywhere up there will do." He smiled, patting the old man on the shoulder. "I'm looking forward to seeing how far this thing actually shoots."

Beside him, Fredrick - a tall man, narrow-faced and shifty-eyed - moved to his ear. Godard leaned over slightly, a relaxed smile still hazarding his face, then in a low voice he asked, "Are we positioned?"

Fredrick nodded. "They're hidden and ready to make a run around to the back of that ol' mountain when the fire goes off. No one will notice."

A crowd was growing, curious as to what exactly was happening. Godard turned, his hands raised to gain attention. "Ladies and gentlemen," he called, waiting a moment for the crowd to quiet, "Just so no alarm is caused, this is just a bit of entertainment provided by our good man here." He nodded to the old man who staggered about the cannon, securing the gun in place. "I think this town needs a bit livening up, don't you?"

Unsure glances were cast about, one or two agreements sounded off from the younger generation and some disapproving grunts came from the elder. But no argument was raised; the explanation seemed to sate their curiosity.

The ball was loaded, the powder poured, then a wick was struck.

---

"Mind telling me what ant got up your britches?"

Legolas frowned, trying to decide whether or not to ignore Tyne. "The one that will eat you whole," he muttered half under his breath, just loud enough for Scott to overhear. "Those men," he started, "aren't going to let you get away without at least attempting to bring you back in, dead or alive."

"They already tried, and they failed. Easy as that." Scott slid down another ledge on the seat of his pants, wincing as his finger jammed in a crack. "I'm just too darn fast for them."

An honest to goodness snort escaped Legolas for once as he picked his way down a steep decline.

"Hey," Scott shook his finger, as if it would aid in relieving pain. "Don't snort at me, it's true after all. Even if - "

Legolas suddenly stopped mid-step, looking up and around. A split second later, the rocks thundered in response to a violent report, too deep and too loud to be any other than...

For the second time in one day, Scott found himself thrown to the ground. But a moment later, there was a crack and then a greater rumbling as the corner of the rock bluff exploded in a shower of shale and debris. Legolas rolled to his feet as the rock ceased to fall. "Get up! We can't stop here, if we stop, they'll pin us in for sure!"

A mad rush down the mountain followed, sliding much of the way - some more gracefully than others. Soon another shot was fired, the projectile hissing over their heads, unseen but heard, an angry warning. The earth exploded a short ways in front of them, forcing them to back pedal.

"Do not stop!" Legolas warned again, springing back down the slope with the agility of a mountain sheep. Scott followed, slipping, sliding, and generally creating a dust cloud that threatened to engulf him. "They're trying to deter us."

"You don't think I know that?" Scott cried from behind, "But that's being bright about the situation, I mean, they're just lobbing iron balls at us, by gum! Nothing to worry about probably, we'll be buried on impact, no mess either!" he continued irately. "How convenient, eh?" Scott's tirade was put to an abrupt halt as the ground exploded to his right.

Legolas slowed his decent, glancing back over his shoulder. Scott had picked himself up and was continuing to scramble down after him. They were nearing the level ground. Reassured, Legolas put his mind back to the task at hand, or at least tried to. But the sight of the horsemen rounding the bend from behind the cover of the mountain put a new meaning to speed.

For a moment, Legolas considered an attempt to go back the way they had just come and try to hide in the crags, but it was one that was hastily dashed by a glance backwards. He still had one option, however.

The whistle was shrill and keening, it was like a beacon of sound, radiating out from where he stood. The riders were not the only ones that heard it.

His heels dug into the loose shale, bringing him to sharp halt. He had only to wait a moment now. The rifle that had remained gripped in his hands swung up to his shoulder. The riders moved around the bend, turning as a body upon sighting them.

He didn't divert his attention as they drew nearer, his finger on the trigger remaining motionless. Scott skidded to a stop beside him, casting a glance at the advancing posse and to Legolas, who stayed so very still with and eye slightly squinted. "I hope you've been practicing mounting on the run."

Scott could only gulp.

TBC...

A/N: Hullo! Ah-ha, no more of that nasty mush and dull recollection stuff, eh? Yes, I suppose I should have saved a bit of this action for other chapters, but the more, the better I say. Plenty more where this came from, to be sure.

daw the minstrel - Well, I had to pay tribute somewhere to dear Bill. Thanks for being such a faithful reviewer, does boo-coodles for one's writing. ;)

Kay - Ah, you hit on it! I was originally going to do that story, but thought better to start here. I've got so many ideas for more like this one and this one will probably need a sequel of some sort. I'll have to wait and record that tale until the characters share with me their story in full. They're being quite quite about that part of their life and I'm being kept in suspense with you as well! And yes, I did have fun with that phrase. It just wrote itself. Hope the discription of the Elf becomes clearer with each chapter. Thanks for all the kind words!

brat64 - Forgive the wait on this one, I've had it written for some time, my BetaMom just never had time to check it out. Yes, must thank both Tux and Mom for their help. Very releaved that you approve of the image of Legolas that I'm painting as well, and as for his hat, well, he just came with it when he came to tell me the story. ;) Hat's have such character. Thanks for being such a great supporter!

Waiting eagerly for your responses,
Bill